


Beneath the Iron Tree

by opera_ghost



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: Dark, Death, Heat Stroke, Insanity, Seizures, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 01:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12121503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opera_ghost/pseuds/opera_ghost
Summary: A man finds himself in the famed Phantom of the Opera's torture chamber.





	Beneath the Iron Tree

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while, and I finally decided to write it. This is extremely dark, so please be cautious. (Refer to the tags for specific warnings)

The man awoke in a fairly large room. From what he could guess, the walls were about ten feet across. There were six of them, their edges all connecting to form a hexagonal shape. The room was lined with mirrors, the only seams visible being at the corners of the walls. Further away from where the man lay, there was a large iron tree. It was intricately crafted, so that it seemed as if the artisan had taken a real tree and coated it in metal.  Beneath the iron tree lay a catgut lasso, neatly set upon the ground.

Disoriented from the sleep, which was most likely induced by a blow to the head, the man rose from his resting place to examine his surroundings more closely. It took several attempts to get the correct footing, but once he succeeded, walking was easy. He made to inspect the lasso beneath the tree, for it was the only object in the room, but upon seeing it up close he concluded that it was of no use.

The iron tree was indeed a spectacle to behold, and had he been in this room under better circumstances, he would have admired it greatly and congratulated the creator. However, in his current predicament it seemed that this tree was made to mock him. It only served as a painful reminder of where he was.

The man was not daft; he knew that this room he was in was constructed for torture. The purpose was made quite obvious by the mirrors, which he assumed were meant to torment the victim into insanity. He could only conclude that this was the fate that awaited him.

However, he was not one to give up so easily, and was determined to somehow find a way out of this peculiar room. Being the observative man that he was, he had already inspected the room for obvious exits, but his search yielded no results. He moved closer to examine the mirrored walls more thoroughly, looking for any inconsistencies in the smooth glass; which could indicate a point of escape. His hands glided over the mirrored walls; ultimately feeling no ridges, except at the edges. 

He stepped towards the iron tree to study it, thinking one of the large knots in the roots could be a trigger for some sort of trapdoor or passageway. Pressing each of them firmly seemed to do nothing, so he moved on to the long metal limbs further up, trying to shift them downwards using his body weight. These wouldn’t budge either, so the man proceeded to checking the floor. Getting down on his hands and knees, he knocked on the ground, trying to find a hollow spot that could mark a trapdoor. This was in vain however, for there were no trapdoors or exits anywhere in the room.

Crawling back over to the tree, he slumped his body against it, finally admitting defeat. He would surely die of starvation or dehydration, unless his kind host thought to bring him food to prolong his torture. 

The mirrors taunted him, making the small room seem much bigger than it actually was. He cursed the maker of this horrid place, and the one who had put him here, not even sure if they were the same person, but not caring either. It was unfair that he was left here to die. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he was sure of that, even if he couldn’t remember much of what had happened before he woke up here. He’d always been an honest man, never taking when he could have, never lying to save himself. It was unreasonable. Unjust. He grew hot with anger and bitterness, beating his fist upon the floor at the unfairness of it all.

The anger subsided quickly, for he was not an angry man to begin with, and he soon realized that his emotions were not the reason for the sudden rise in temperature, but the room itself. Yes, the temperature levels in the room were indeed rising, and at an alarming rate. The man bolted up from his seat against the iron tree, which was growing even hotter than the air around him. He looked all about for the source of the heat, but could find no vents of any sort. His eyes frantically wondered the room, scanning it for exits once more, even though he had already done a thorough search.

A mild headache was already setting in, and he had no doubt that more symptoms of heat exhaustion would follow, should the temperature keep climbing. He tried to slow his breathing and relax, so as not to create more body heat than necessary, but his attempts were futile. He was panicking too much, his breathing quickening. Attempting to calm down, he lowered himself to the floor, closed his eyes, and began taking deep breaths.

Time passed, though he wasn’t sure how much. His breathing had slowed, but his pulse had quickened; a side effect from the heat. Using his hands and knees to get up, he stood precariously on his feet. The room immediately started spinning, and he stumbled towards the iron tree. He reached out his hand to steady himself, but yanked it back upon contact with it. Unbearable pain shot up his hand as he let loose a bloodcurdling scream. The smell of burnt flesh invaded his nose and brought hot tears to his eyes.

His reflection looked upon him and laughed, for he was a truly pitiful sight. He fell back on the floor, clutching his hand to his chest. The room was getting smaller with every wave of pain that washed over him. It laughed along with his reflection, raising the temperature with its hot breath.

He felt his stomach yell in protest to the new surge of heat, and he rolled over and promptly released the contents of the vile organ all over the floor. It smelled faintly of smoke, which couldn’t be good. The room decided that vomited his guts out was not an adequate way for him to die, and so it devised a worse fate for him.

The man lay upon the floor, surprised he hadn’t blacked out already. When he took his pulse it was faint and weak. He still had a strong feeling of nausea, but was confident that he wouldn’t vomit any more. 

Something crawled over his leg. He told himself that there was nothing to worry about. Another something crawled over his leg. He told himself that he was just being paranoid. A thousand somethings crawled over his body. He told himself that now he could worry.

When the man faced the mirror, there was nothing there, but he was sure that he was being eaten alive. He could feel the many small bites that the insects were leaving, even if he couldn’t see them. The room giggled in delight at his frantic attempts to rid himself of the small creatures.

His body began moving of its own accord, and he dropped to the floor, limbs flailing uncontrollably in all directions. His reflection did not copy him, but mocked him and cackled at his pained expression.

These spastic movements went on for quite a while, though by now the man had no concept of time. His world was simply pain and suffering. Eventually the seizure ceased, and he was able to control his body once more. However, it was no use, for there was no reason to move anyway. He was sure there was more torture to endure, but he had given up all hope of escape.

He turned towards the mirror. The reflection grinned at him, pointing towards the pile of rope beneath the tree. The man stood shakily, still clasping his burned hand to himself, and stumbled towards the lasso. He took it in his hands, as the reflection pointed upwards to the tree. Climbing the iron stock was difficult, but the man managed it, and he was thankful that his nose was no longer able to pick up the heavy scent of burning flesh. He tied the catgut lasso to the tree limb easily as the reflection in the mirror cheered him on. Slipping his neck through the loop in the noose was effortless too, and letting go of the tree and letting his body hang was the easiest of all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is fairly different from what I usually write. Let me know what you think!


End file.
